


(Now and Then There's) A Fool Such as I

by monchy



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrequited love can be such a heavy weight... Especially if you're Obi-Wan Kenobi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Now and Then There's) A Fool Such as I

The wind picks up around them, motors thundering away as pilots get ready and check everything one last time. Anakin stands next to his own podracer, one hand lightly settled on the metallic cover of the engine, feeling it roar under his palm. Such power for just one man, and Obi-Wan can’t help but think that it’s kind of ironic. He looks around, light eyes scanning the crowds before they go back to Anakin’s own.   
  
“Is this truly the only way?” he asks, arms crossing over his chest.   
  
Anakin turns to look at the podracer, mischief sighing bright in his eyes as a cocky smile curves his lips upwards. His hair is flying in the wind, crazy curls falling freely around his face as he stares at the other competitors, completely oblivious to the worry in Obi-Wan’s eyes.   
  
“We discussed this already, Master,” he says after a while, his eyes turning back to Obi-Wan. He adjusts his glove over what had once been a flesh hand but now is nothing more than well-connected wires, and then loosens the collar of his shirt a little.   
  
They’re both out of their Jedi robes, which they discarded earlier that day in favor of the clothing of commoners. Anakin looks comfortable, and Obi-Wan knows he must feel at ease, but he feels distressed, as if he had been stripped of his own skin rather than of simple robes. The wind picks up again, and someone shouts something through the huge speakers installed for the enjoyment of the race. Obi-Wan hates it when Anakin races.   
  
“You said so yourself,” Anakin continues after a too long beat of Obi-Wan’s heart. “We need to get into the man’s circle, and he likes podracing, so here we are.”   
  
Obi-Wan frowns, looking for a single quick second at the man Anakin is referring to. He’s too far away, and there are five podracers in between him and Obi-Wan, but he can still make out his tall figure. Banto Sari, a powerful man working for the Jedi and suspected of treason, their job? To discover the truth behind that accusation.   
  
Anakin hadn’t been too thrilled with the idea, but now, helmet under his armpit and eyes shining with contained pleasure, he looks more than happy with the mission. He’s sweaty and overly excited, and Obi-Wan can almost smell the anticipation in his skin.   
  
“Do you have any idea of the way I lectured Qui-Gon for risking our mission by betting on a kid winning a podrace?” Obi-Wan sighs, changes his weight from foot to foot. There’s a smile pulling at his lips now, and he wishes Anakin didn’t have the power to make him say yes to everything.   
  
Anakin smiles again, wide and half into a laugh. “I’m not a kid anymore, Master.”   
  
Obi-Wan eyes him up and down, muscles glistening under the sun and in between the light green clothes he’s wearing. A lock of hair hides his left eye, and Obi-Wan has to physically stop himself from reaching out and putting it behind his ear.   
  
Finally, he says, “No, no you aren’t.”   
  
***  
  
Obi-Wan turns the little screen on his hands when the motors start to roar louder, ready to start the race. He knows Anakin has done far more dangerous things than participating in this, but the recklessness that possesses him whenever he is presented with a fast machine never ceases to worry Obi-Wan. He doesn’t get it, and he can’t pretend to understand the appeal it has.   
  
Seconds later, the racers are moving and podracers are whooshing past him, raising wind and sand in their way. Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, his eyes focused on the screen and Anakin’s pod. He knows Anakin is good, and he knows he’s going to win this, no matter what. He wishes they could go home and rest, though. They’ve been travelling too much lately, and he finds himself tired, weary. He must be getting old, because a few years ago he would have been bursting with energy.   
  
He sighs, rubbing his eyes in a way that he knows Anakin finds annoying, and focuses on his part of the mission. Banto Sari is a very young man, and the one that sponsors him on the races is none other than his father, a wealthy merchant of the Outer Rim. The man has made his fortune by selling ships and modernizing them, or at least that’s what reports say. The truth is Obi-Wan suspects there are a few illegal businesses directed by the man, and that are the real reason behind his money. But Obi-Wan can’t concern himself with that now, though, because what they are trying to prove is that father and son are selling the Order to the Federation, and that they are the cause of more than one failure lately.   
  
Obi-Wan is standing close to the man, who is focused on his own screen, probably looking at the shiny white podracer of his son. He’s scowling, probably because his son is now second to Anakin, and it doesn’t look like he’s about to win. Obi-Wan looks at him, coughs a little.   
  
“He is very good,” Obi-Wan says, leaning slightly towards the man, but keeping his eyes on his own screen. He can feel the man jump, surprised, even if he hides the feeling easily enough.   
  
“Apparently not good enough.”   
  
Obi-Wan smiles then, lifting his head towards the man and letting the wind mess up his hair. He has to stop himself from combing it with his hand. “Because Anakin is the best.”   
  
The man looks at him then, dark eyes clashing with Obi-Wan’s and showing something akin to fury, but that Obi-Wan believes to be curiosity. “You know him?”   
  
Obi-Wan looks back down at the screen, studying the movement of Anakin’s podracer, closely followed by that of Banto’s. Anakin is going to win, and he knows it. Obi-Wan swears he can feel the excitement rolling off of Anakin, but maybe he’s just imagining things. He breathes in, and the smell of sand and sweat fills his nostrils.   
  
“We travel together,” Obi-Wan says finally, shaking the feeling of rushing adrenaline from his own body.   
  
“May the best man win, then.”   
  
Obi-Wan nods, ignoring the challenging glint in the other man’s eyes. Anakin will win, because he always does. Obi-Wan has to wonder when he started trusting his former Padawan so blindly, and why now it feels so second nature.   
  
***  
  
When the race is over, Obi-Wan and Banto’s father walk side by side towards where Anakin is shaking Banto’s hand. Anakin has won, just like Obi-Wan knew he will, but he can’t stop the smile that graces his lips when he sees Anakin, his face almost black with smudges, but his eyes bright and his lips wet, happy. There’s a pang in his heart, and Obi-Wan shakes his head.   
  
“Good race,” he murmurs once he gets there, and Anakin turns to look at him, eyes full of satisfied pride.   
  
Obi-Wan has to laugh before he reaches forward, rubbing his sleeve against Anakin’s stained cheeks. Anakin’s arms flail, and he frowns in that childish way he has, pressing Obi-Wan’s hands between his and squeezing before letting him go. Obi-Wan sighs, his nostrils full of the smell of Anakin’s sweaty curls this time.   
  
“I was just talking to… Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.” Anakin looks directly at Banto, who seems to be apologizing to his father, but who stops immediately in order to pay attention to Anakin.   
  
He resembles his father in the squared jaw and dark eyes, but his younger features are more pleasant than the strict ones of his father, who keeps looking at Obi-Wan in a way he can’t quite describe. Obi-Wan wonders if perhaps he has realized exactly who and what they are. For a second, Obi-Wan feels the weight of his lightsaber get heavier. Soon enough, though, Banto is reaching out and both Anakin and himself are shaking hands with the young man.   
  
“I’m Banto Sari, and this is my father Reza. We sponsor the races. You will stay for the other two, yes? I think I’ve never found an opponent like yourself.” Banto takes another step forward, and his lips curve up invitingly as he eyes Anakin, gaze wandering past him and focusing on Obi-Wan for a single second. He then focuses on Anakin again, and finishes with, “I’d like to race you again.”   
  
Anakin smiles, features turning cocky. “Obi-Wan and I are just passing by, sorry.”   
  
“What a shame.” This time Reza is the one to intervene, arms crossing as his eyes go from Anakin to Obi-Wan and then back. “You could always stay with us; almost all competitors are already doing so.”   
  
Anakin looks at Obi-Wan and smiles enthusiastically, as if trying to coerce his unwilling partner to stay for some time. Obi-Wan frowns, playing his own part in the charade.   
  
“Please…” Anakin’s tone lingers, and then he turns fully towards Obi-Wan, biting his lower lip softly. Obi-Wan watches, almost mesmerized, the way the pinkish skin turns a yellowish white under Anakin’s teeth, and he swallows.   
  
Obi-Wan stays silent for a while longer, letting Anakin reach out towards him and press one hand to his chest and another one to his shoulder, feeling the way his fingers adjust to ridges of muscle and settle, pressing softly in a way Obi-Wan knows must be unintentional. Obi-Wan’s feet make him sway forward, and he breathes in slowly as he moves his hand up, traps one of Anakin’s curls in between his fingers and move it behind his ear. He wishes there was more truth to the moment than there really is.   
  
“Sure, why not?” he says finally, breaking the fantasy by moving his eyes to Banto and his father. They look pleased, an easy smile adorning both their faces.   
  
“Thank you very much,” Anakin says, facing them as well. “Obi-Wan and I would love to stay for the rest of the competition.” And now Anakin’s hand descends, tracing Obi-Wan’s back with deft fingers, pressing against his spine and settling firmly on his lower back, one of his thumbs almost grazing the curve of his ass.   
  
Obi-Wan breathes in and out, slowly.   
  
“Fantastic!” Banto exclaims as he looks at Anakin, a touch of lust in his eyes.   
  
***  
  
Anakin is trying to tie his robe properly, and in the mean time, Obi-Wan sits silently on the bed. He wonders why people always give them just one bed, always assume with so much ease that they… Obi-Wan shakes his head, removing the thoughts from his head. He needs to focus.   
  
“I hate dinner parties,” Anakin sighs after a while, giving up on the collar of his robe and choosing to leave it open, a patch of sun warmed skin clearly visible through the light grey fabric.   
  
Obi-Wan stands up, and tugs from Anakin’s robe until he leans towards him. Then, he proceeds to retie it with the expertise of years and the resigned sigh of an adoptive father. The tip of one of Anakin’s curls touches his nose, and Obi-Wan blows softly on it, making Anakin smile.   
  
“Just behave yourself, Padawan.”   
  
Anakin pouts prettily, lower lip jutting forward temptingly. “Not your Padawan anymore,” he says, and even as he does so the beginning of a smile is forming on his lips yet again. “Lately all of our missions have been so…”   
  
“My kind of mission?” Obi-Wan arches and eyebrow, letting his hands rest against Anakin’s neck for a second longer than necessary before dropping them by his sides.   
  
“Well, yeah. I mean, all this subterfuge and subtlety. I want to ride fast ships and cut things and stuff.”   
  
Anakin beams.   
  
Obi-Wan laughs.   
  
“When we get back to the Temple we can go and practice as much as you want.”   
  
“But you beat me every time.”   
  
“So the old Master is still better at something, yes?”   
  
Anakin laughed, full and throaty, his neck stretching as his head moved backwards. “You’re not old, Master."   
  
Anakin moves back, looking at himself in the full body mirror that is hanged on one of the walls of the small room, and after making a few tiny adjustments, they are both ready to go.   
  
Banto and his father are, indeed, housing most of the competitors in their huge mansion, and now they are all prowling around, and most of them trying to see whom this Anakin guy is, and what exactly has he done to win the race. There are jealous and admiring faces surrounding him, but Obi-Wan can’t help but notice, once again, the lustful gaze of Banto. He shakes his head, angry at himself, and then steps outside of the room and into a big balcony that gifts him with the view of the great extension covered by sand dunes that seems to be the planet.   
  
He hates the feeling, but closed quarters are getting to him and he can’t help but wish he is given some time away from Anakin. He can’t just stand there any longer, touching, smelling, almost tasting, and not quite getting. He has built his life around repression, but now he feels tired, much too battered to take Anakin’s closeness far longer.   
  
It’s cold outside, a sharp contrast from the heat of the day, and Obi-Wan lifts up the collar of his robe in a failed attempt at covering his neck. The night is fairly dark, and he welcomes the feeling of loneliness. It is time for them to go home, to rest. But they still have this mission to complete, a few more days to go on. And Obi-Wan can do that; he is, after all, a Jedi.   
  
He leans his back on the railing, his eyes scanning the crowd. No one seems to be paying much attention to him, but Anakin, on the other hand, is constantly surrounded by smiley faces and patting hands. He catches sight of Banto’s hand resting lightly on the small of Anakin’s back, and a shot of fury goes through him like lighting, forcing him to look away. He shakes his head, auburn locks falling lightly over his eyes, and he sighs. He is just so tired.   
  
***  
  
Obi-Wan wakes up next morning with Anakin firmly nestled on his side, his head resting on his chest and his hair spread everywhere. Obi-Wan is used to the way Anakin invades his space, and is more than familiar with the way his thigh feels on top of his own, the way his cock rests against his hip with so much ease. Anakin smells muskier in the mornings, and Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s going to survive the day.   
  
“Do you have something?” Obi-Wan asks, crouching so he can look Anakin in the eye.   
  
Anakin is half covered in black already, though, and thoroughly focused on the engine of the shiny podracer. His hands, big and strong, clutch a screwdriver as if they were holding a lightsaber, and his eyes scan the wires in front of him with fascination. Obi-Wan can feel the excitement rolling off of him.   
  
“Pass me that screwdriver, will you? This one’s too big.”   
  
Obi-Wan passes the tool, pressing it to Anakin’s hand and making a conscious effort to ignore the heat coming from his skin. Anakin smiles in thank you, and goes back to his engine with glee.   
  
“Did you hear what I said?” murmurs Obi-Wan, doing his own inspection of the podracer in front of him. It’s a fine machine, all right, and will be all that much faster once Anakin is finished with it.   
  
“Oh, yeah, yeah. No, I got nothing, you?”   
  
Obi-Wan shakes his head, and only then he murmurs, “No.” He leans against the pod, resting his head on the palm of his hand and watching the way Anakin’s curls bounce every time he moves. He’s got a sickly fascination with that hair, and damn, but he wants to bury his hand in it so badly.   
  
A clock ticks on the wall, and Obi-Wan is surprised he can hear it over the noise of just about every competitor working on his or her podracer. It’s way too hot in the place.   
  
“Banto’s father always changes subject whenever I try to talk about his work,” he continues after a bit. “I think we’re just going to have to go looking for something tonight… Not that we even know if he has some sort of office here or not. And it’s not like we’re going to find a file named how I betrayed the Jedi, or anything.”   
  
Anakin simply nods, his hand coming out of the engine covered in grease. Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose.   
  
“Yeah, sure. I’ll try talking to Banto after the race, though.”  
  
Obi-Wan sighs, and while Anakin inspects and cleans some piece that Obi-Wan finds unrecognizable, he climbs on the podracer and settles himself inside the pit. It’s not comfortable.   
  
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Obi-Wan says from his new seat, his eyes scanning the controls and his nose distinguishing the smell of leather coming from the seat. He still doesn’t get what’s so exciting about this kind of machine; but then again, he never claimed to understand Anakin.   
  
“You think Windu will let me keep the pod?” Anakin beams at him, eyes bright and earnest.   
  
Obi-Wan sighs. “Master Windu, Anakin. And no, he won’t let you.”   
  
“Maybe I can get Quinlan to convince him… Not that I wanna now how he will, because ew, seriously.” Anakin makes a show of trembling, and Obi-Wan finds himself chuckling, blissful for a second as his lips spread into a smile. Anakin has always managed to make him laugh.   
  
“Well, look at you all relaxed,” murmurs Anakin then. He puts down the rag he had been using to clean the podracer, and then leans against it so he can be at Obi-Wan’s eye level.   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“You’ve been all tense and grumpy these past weeks. And I swear that if I look closely I might see the knots on your back.”   
  
Obi-Wan grunts a little, shifting inside the pod and throwing his head back. But Anakin’s right… They’ve been away from home for so long and spending so much time attached at the hip that Obi-Wan feels absolutely drained. When he notices a pair of hands pressing softly against his shoulders, he almost yelps. Anakin’s not looking at him, though, focusing his eyes on the back of his neck while his fingers dig into his flesh with expertise. It’s a fact that if Anakin wasn’t a Jedi he could definitely earn his keep as a masseuse.   
  
“Anakin…”   
  
Anakin’s lips tighten in concentration, and his thumbs reach the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck, moving there in circular motions. “I can do this properly later, after the race.” And then his eyes look up, shiny with something Obi-Wan doesn’t quite decipher, long lashes trembling above Anakin’s warm cheeks. “If you want me to, that is.”   
  
Obi-Wan holds his breath in, lips parting in silent agreement, hands clutching the cold metal of the pod all too suddenly. He wouldn’t mind at all if the world decided to end right now.   
  
“Sure, after the race.”   
  
***  
  
The wind is hot, and Obi-Wan feels sticky all over, but that doesn’t make him feel any more thankful for his lighter clothes than he did yesterday. He misses his Jedi clothes and the confidence that comes with them, and confidence is something he needs right now.   
  
He watches Anakin lean forward from the distance, watches how his mouth curves up invitingly and his hand rests easily on Banto’s back, his ears probably not listening to his banter. He’s won the race yet again, just as Obi-Wan knew he would, and now he gets to go and celebrate while Obi-Wan gets to stay alone and mourn his weakness and tiredness. Force, he feels so old. And it’s not that he hasn’t been offered an invitation, it’s just that he doesn’t want to get in Anakin’s way.   
  
But it’s been so long, and it feels as if he’s been playing this cat and mouse game with Anakin for centuries, even if his former Padawan doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact, oblivious in his simple happiness. Obi-Wan envies him, his youth, his carelessness and the way people just seem to be drawn towards him so easily. He wishes he could reach out and touch, lift the weight from his shoulders and rest.   
  
***  
  
That night, after Obi-Wan has decided not to go inspect the mansion, Anakin comes back and almost makes them both topple over when he drops all his weight on top of Obi-Wan. He’s drunk, and as he slurs words all the way to the bed, his hands clutch at Obi-Wan’s clothes, his fingers slide down his face and neck, finding support on his shoulders. He looks up at Obi-Wan with blurry eyes and tells him that he loves him. Obi-Wan knows it’s true, and it makes him feel even worse.   
  
Still, when he manages to get Anakin out of his clothes and into the bed, Anakin rolls on his side and props himself half on top of Obi-Wan, smothering him with legs and arms. It feels familiar, and safe.   
  
***  
  
“Oh, fuck, worst hangover ever.”   
  
“I think I’m kind of glad.” Pause. “And watch that language, Padawan.”   
  
Pout. “Not your Padawan anymore.”   
  
***  
  
That night, at diner, Anakin disappears. Obi-Wan’s eyes scan the crowd and fail to find the mop of light brown hair bobbing up and down the room, accompanied by easy laughter and smiley too red lips. He stays, though, because he knows Anakin can take care of himself, and there are no bells ringing inside his head. He wonders where the Hell could he be, anyway.   
  
It’s second nature already, looking out for Anakin, being worried about him. He really wouldn’t have guessed, all this years ago when presented with the idea of training a bratty nine year old, that things would come to this.   
  
“Lost your partner?”   
  
Obi-Wan turns around and towards the deep voice, catching sight of Reza, Banto’s father. The man has been almost his perpetual companion for the past few days, and now Obi-Wan has no doubts of the fact that this man is responsible of what the Order accuses him. He looks innocent enough, just a man who has earned his fortune, but the way his eyes keep moving around, the way his hand clutches at Obi-Wan’s wrist even now… Well, Obi-Wan knows the signs of paranoia when he sees them; the man is constantly scared of getting caught. Obi-Wan can somewhat relate to the feeling.   
  
“I’m sure he’s ok,” Obi-Wan answers after a while, only to see Anakin emerging from a hallway closely followed by Banto, whose hand is, once again, settled on Anakin’s lower back.   
  
Next to Obi-Wan, Reza smiles. “I’m sure he’s being taken care of.”   
  
Obi-Wan scowls.   
  
***  
  
“I’ve got it!” Anakin half yells triumphantly, holding up a memory disk in between his fingers. “An archived conversation with the Federation… Wouldn’t have thought they kept this stuff.”   
  
The air outside is cold, and Obi-Wan brings his arms closer to himself as he turns to face Anakin. Anakin is beaming, looking happy and in the brinks of glory, but all Obi-Wan can see is the puffy redness of his lips, mocking him. Anakin’s cheeks are flushed as well, and Obi-Wan bets that if he were to touch him his cheeks would be cold from the night air, his curls as well. Obi-Wan hates himself for wanting to do it so badly.   
  
“Did you have a hard time getting that?” Obi-Wan asks, pointing at the disk.   
  
Anakin steps back, thrown back by the question. “No, it was quite easy, actually.”   
  
“I’m sure it was.” And this time Obi-Wan reaches forward, touches his hand to Anakin’s lips for one single second. “I’m sure it was,” he repeats. Then, he’s ready to leave, but a firm hand on his forearm makes him stop, turn.   
  
“Fuck, you could have just told me.”   
  
“Tell you w–”   
  
When Anakin’s lips cover his own, Obi-Wan stops, stays still, frozen in the moment for what seems an eternity but is merely a second. Then he leans in, closer, his feet forcing him to angle forward and up to meet Anakin’s questing tongue with no hesitation. Anakin smells of sweat and cold air, and Obi-Wan clutches him, tighter, tighter, so he won’t let go.   
  
***  
  
They never attend the third race, instead taking the time to run towards the ship and travel back to Coruscant and their shared rooms at the Temple. In the ship, Anakin leans his head in Obi-Wan’s chest, buries his nose in the light brown clothes of his Jedi attire, and listens to the way Obi-Wan’s heart beats under his air. And they might not be at Coruscant yet, but this certainly feels like home.


End file.
